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About Me

When I was about 6, my dog bit me because I reached into her food bowl while she was eating. The pain was so great, that it sent electric spasms all throughout my body and I, like a 6 year old, cried. I rain into the kitchen to my dad, who was peeling apples at the time for my mom to make pies later that evening, and told him what had happened. After my passionate speech my father only had one question for me, "Did you bite her back?". This absurd query immediately ceased my tears. "No", I replied. "If somebody bites you, bite 'em back" my dad sighed as he went back to peeling and slicing. After that I promptly exited the kitchen, found Spicy (my dog's name) and bit her. From then on, Spicy and I had a mutual understanding. Don't start no shit, won't be no shit.

O sweetheart.My beautifulfullGreen Mother.Feel you twirlin'singin'dancin' in blue moonlight.O baby I see you smileevery early mornin'little birds singin' to youas it washes you sweet womanin that warm liquid light.You smile stillin the midst of all our tears.Cause we know you're dyin'.Every time we stopwe can feel it.You feel it too mama,you just don't dancelike you used to.I wanna hug yourfull, beautifulwoman's figure.Caress your soft brown skin.Kiss you softer than the sun does.Those wrinkles don't matter to me mama,you're still so, so beautiful.And my father,he still loves you.You took such good care of us baby,I'll take care of you now.I'll dance with you.Now show me that beautiful smile.

Sunday, January 18, 2009

I've come to the conclusionthat I'm human,and that's alright.I drink like a human,smoke like a human,maybe that's okay.I get angry,feel sad,too sad sometimes,but I can live with that.I fart human farts,shit human logs,piss,and piss off,just like a homosapien,and I can deal with it.I say things I shouldn't say,think thoughts I shouldn't think...or maybe I should.Either way,It's all good.I cheat when I play games,make up tall tales,lick my lips,suck in my stomach,and lose my mind sometimes...like me,and I think I'm alright.And I just spilled beer on myself,Just like a man,but being a manis still something,I have to cope with.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Every drop that ran downwas a paintbrush strokein red and blueAs they carve their fears upon meI had asked for deathand there she wasAs the earth pulled back it's fingersas the fire spewed outmy chest and backBeautiful brush strokes and colorsI'm your canvas nowmake me red and blackJust a seconds slip in silenceafter that it's alla morning hazeand I find myself beside meneeding bandagesagain.

Monday, January 12, 2009

Old RomansBig brown ChariotsGorgeous for the Moonlightit lights me,shines down on my eyesDead kings dance in back streetsthe foul stench burnsfeels like I've been cryingMaybe somethings vanishedWho'll dance up there?We all avoid that square.This city sleepsNever did before,now it never wakesSo let's shake it.Blind poets free,should never write of what they see...Is this why?Who was the first to tell that lie?Someone said,"We are better"and someone believed.They all heardgave themselves names,grew beards,and learned bigger wordsAnd then we all died.Don't feel ashamed,Manhattan islands all the same.New Amsterdam,has gone missing.

What time was it when God created life? Hmm. I guess a lot of that depends on what time God goes to bed... Either way, if it was anywhere near the time I got up this morning to do laundry, or the time my dad usually wakes up, then I know why the human race has so many problems. To an insomniac, it seems a waste that the morning should be almost as beautiful as the night. It seems a waste that birds should sing for the rising of the sun and not the great glowing moon. That wolf understands, but these birds got it all wrong. Navigate by stars my airborne sillies, the sun is only one giant bastard of a burning shit. Your path is illuminated by millions of shit lamps at night birdie, that owl understands... At least one bird got it right. Hoohoo!

Sunday, January 4, 2009

I'd like to visit themin Dreams.Under black thatched roofsleaking prismatic drops of dewinto their senses.They'd waitpreoccupiedby some strange play or thingas I travelledrolling on the winda wispsomething cool and dry.Be forewarned,my love for them,for you...would extend to the starsand under the pressuresurrounding thisundoubtedly burstand sprinkle down this eartha lovely pearl snowonly to mix with prismatic dewand ever so gracefully slip through the cracksof their black thatched roofsquenching the dustof your consciousness,and fertilizing the seedsin that old attic,creating a gorgeousemerald sproutthat will in timegrow into something sturdy.Something that looksa lot likeme.